


Quiet

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Sterek A-Z Challenge [17]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt Stiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 17:52:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10791681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: He didn’t know how it had happened, his relationship with Stiles. He supposed a part of him had always known they were somethingmore, he just hadn’t dwelled on what that was. Stiles had never said anything about it either, and it was just like they had come to a silent agreement without even having to think about it.At their next pack meeting, Stiles and Derek had sat down beside one another, and Derek had put his hand on Stiles’ knee while speaking to the pack. Then he and Stiles had cleaned up his loft together in silence. Then they’d gone to bed without Derek having to prompt Stiles, or Stiles having to ask if he could join him.





	Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis
> 
> Additional Tags at the end.

Derek woke first, as he often did since sleep was still an elusive beast, so he wasn’t surprised to blink open sleepy eyes to find Stiles still passed out beside him. Derek was pressed against his back, arms curled around him and holding him tightly to his chest. Stiles’ breathing was still slow and deep, and when Derek shifted up a little bit so he was on one elbow, hand sliding along the other’s skin, he saw that he was drooling all over his pillow.

At least it was _his_  pillow, and not Derek’s pillow. Or his chest.

Allowing a small smile to form on his lips, he thought of all those times when they’d first started dating where he’d woken up with Stiles half on top of him drooling all over his chest. As disgusting as it had been back then, now it was just endearing. He supposed falling for someone did that.

Kissing lightly at Stiles’ shoulder, he pulled his trapped arm out from under the other’s body, which earned him only a soft exhale and Stiles rolling away from him. Freeing himself from the sheets, Derek stood and draped them back over his sleeping boyfriend.

He went to the bathroom so he could brush his teeth and relieve himself, then headed back into their bedroom so he could dress in a pair of shorts and a loose shirt. Moving back around the bed where Stiles still slept, Derek bent down to kiss his temple, something he reserved especially for when he knew Stiles was in a deep sleep, and then headed out of their room.

Descending the stairs into the main part of his loft, he left after grabbing his phone and keys and locking the front door. He often went for a quick run through the preserve in the mornings. It comforted him to run the most vulnerable part of the boundary of his pack’s land, and it gave him ample opportunity to think.

Which was what he did as soon as he reached the forest, beginning to jog at a practised pace, concentrating on the sounds of his footfalls on the ground. He could smell Scott on the air, the scent old, at least by an hour. The other Werewolf had likely come to run the boundary earlier in the morning.

Considering he had a very energetic two-year-old, it made sense he’d be up before Derek. He often was.

Things had calmed down a lot in Beacon Hills since The Incident. Nobody liked to talk about it, but Derek thought of it often while out on his morning jogs. He was sure Scott did, too. It hadn’t been one of their finer moments, but similarly, it was the reason most evils stayed away from Beacon Hills.

If he’d thought Deucalion was well known before, it was nothing to him and Scott as of that night. Deucalion had been the Demon Wolf, but he and Scott… They had been given a different name.

The Harbingers.

It wasn’t quite as terrifying of a name as “Demon Wolf,” but when the stories had been told of what they had done, he and Scott… the name had spread like wildfire.

They weren’t proud of what they had done. Scott especially still lived with the weight of it, but Derek didn’t regret it. He wasn’t proud of it, but he didn’t regret having done it.

And so, evil stayed away from Beacon Hills because of it.

Soon after that, when it became clear they were safe, and their pack had solidified into one that no one could tear apart, he went to see Stiles. It had been difficult forcing himself to, because he was afraid of what he would see in his face. Of what he would think of him. Whether he would ever forgive him—or Scott—for what they had done.

But when he’d shown up, feeling his palms sweating and more nervous than he’d ever been in his life to see Stiles, all he’d gotten was a weak smile and a hug. Scott had shown up while Derek had been there and had started to cry. It had been awkward and uncomfortable, but Derek hadn’t left.

And he’d never left again.

He didn’t know how it had happened, his relationship with Stiles. He supposed a part of him had always known they were something _more_ , he just hadn’t dwelled on what that was. Stiles had never said anything about it either, and it was just like they had come to a silent agreement without even having to think about it.

At their next pack meeting, Stiles and Derek had sat down beside one another, and Derek had put his hand on Stiles’ knee while speaking to the pack. Then he and Stiles had cleaned up his loft together in silence. Then they’d gone to bed without Derek having to prompt Stiles, or Stiles having to ask if he could join him.

Derek would never forget that first night with Stiles. All they had done was sleep, nothing even remotely sexual about their evening together. Stiles had stripped to his boxers and undershirt, gotten beneath the blankets, and rolled to face Derek before closing his eyes and falling asleep. Derek had pulled him close, tucked Stiles’ head under his chin, and had closed his eyes.

Now, six years later, things hadn’t changed. He and Stiles still went to bed together, and Derek still woke up smiling and curled around Stiles. Their pack had grown, mostly with children and partners, but with a few other betas too who’d come out of the woodworks.

Derek didn’t like how big their pack was sometimes, mostly because it was a lot of responsibility, but at least he and Scott kind of shared it. Other times, he liked it, because it reminded him of his family. There was an ache in his chest when he looked around at the crowded rooms during larger pack gatherings, but Stiles always managed to seek him out, calloused hand sliding easily into Derek’s and squeezing.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve Stiles. Didn’t know what he’d done to deserve a pack as amazing as they had. And all with the now-added bonus of bad things staying far, far away.

The last big bad they’d had in town had been almost eight months ago, and it had taken one look at Lydia and Derek when they’d cornered it, asked if Lydia was a banshee, and then realized whose territory it was in. Derek hadn’t even had to do anything to get it off his land.

And it was _his_  land. Scott may have been the Alpha, but this was Hale pack territory and thankfully, Scott respected that.

Derek had run the boundary of the preserve by the time his thoughts strayed away from the past. His stomach growled while he slowed his pace so he could head home.

Stiles was still in bed when he got back, but the slight elevation in his heartrate suggested he was in that stage between being asleep and being awake.

He headed straight for the bathroom for a shower, washing the sweat and dust off his skin and standing under the cool spray for a few minutes longer than necessary. It wasn’t until he could hear movement in the loft, Stiles finally up and about, that he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower.

The room was empty when he went to grab a fresh set of clothes, and he heard the distinct clatter of breakfast being made downstairs, music drifting up the stairs. It didn’t matter that it was almost two in the afternoon, any time Stiles woke up, it was breakfast time.

Descending the stairs, he found him in the kitchen, head bobbing to the music playing from the base of the ipod speakers. Derek moved up behind him silently and wrapped his arms around his waist, burying his face in Stiles’ neck.

Stiles started so violently he dropped an egg on the counter, then turned to smack hard at Derek’s arm. He just smirked at him, kissing the pout right off his face.

“Sleep well?”

Stiles shrugged and turned back to the counter, sighing at the mess and reaching out for some paper towel. Derek rested his chin on his shoulder and watched him work, feeling each shift of his muscles while he got scrambled eggs ready.

Stiles was slowly relaxing back into Derek, the position familiar and comforting. The two of them often spent the making of breakfast like this, Derek only releasing Stiles when the other had to bend down or grab something from the other side of the kitchen.

“You have work today?” Derek asked, lips pressed against Stiles’ neck, brushing along the raised skin there.

Stiles held out one hand, tapping at the calendar on the side of the fridge. Derek’s eyes drifted to it and he stifled a sigh, pulling away from him, fingers lingering on the skin of his waist when the movement caused his shirt to ride up. Then he pulled away completely and moved across the kitchen to grab them some plates and cutlery.

“I know you can work from home, and you like your job, but a day off doesn’t hurt every now and then,” he commented, moving back to Stiles’ side and setting the plates down. It wasn’t a secret to anyone that being a research analyst had been Stiles’ calling, but Derek got annoyed when he had to stare at Stiles sit in front of his computer all day, engrossed in work. He supposed he should be happy he liked his job so much.

Stiles reached out again, but this time it was for the electronic set on the edge of the counter, out of the way from what he was doing to protect it from the blastzone of Stiles’ cooking. He tapped away at the screen with practised ease, fingers of his right hand typing so quickly Derek always got impressed no matter how often he saw it.

 _“I take days off, just haven’t needed to lately considering my boyfriend has been off work for a while,”_  the electronic voice coming from the machine said, Stiles turning to grin at him and waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“So you take days off while I’m working, but work while I have days off?” Derek’s eyebrows rose and Stiles rolled his eyes, tapping on his electronic voice modulator once more.

_“I take days off when you’re working so I can go see you at work and make sure you don’t die of starvation over there.”_

Derek snorted and slotted himself against Stiles’ side, mouthing at the large scars that raked across Stiles’ neck. He heard Stiles’ breath hitch, felt the shudder that ran through him, but nothing else.

He had never heard Stiles moan in pleasure. Never heard him begging beneath him while they had sex. Never heard him mumble stupid sappy stuff in Derek’s ear while he slowly drifted into unconsciousness.

Derek had not heard Stiles’ voice since The Incident that had given him and Scott their legacy. There were few people they would both explode over, and when the rogue wolf had attacked Stiles, almost killing him, wounds deeper and far worse than the ones Braeden had received…

He’d snapped. Not one of his prouder moments, but he didn’t regret it. No one had thought Stiles would survive. But he had survived, he had healed, and then, he’d been silent. Because the wolf had taken away the one thing about Stiles that made him _Stiles_ , and none of them knew how to handle that.

He handled it better than anyone else did, and after a year, it was a little more… tolerable. It wasn’t normal, would never _be_  normal, but Derek was used to the silence now, after six years. Stiles had adapted. The pack had adapted. No one talked about The Incident. They did what they always did: adapted, and moved on.

Stiles’ phone was vibrating upstairs, sitting on the bedside table where he’d left it the night before. Derek didn’t say anything about it since Stiles wouldn’t be able to hear it from downstairs, because he didn’t want to upset him. Any calls he got were always telemarketers; anyone who knew him personally knew to text.

They ate breakfast together sitting at the counter, Derek critiquing the meal and smirking at the offended looks he got for his comments. Stiles threatened not to cook for him ever again, and Derek responded that it would allow him to live longer. Stiles had punched him, and then complained about his hand hurting.

Once the dishes were washed and put away, Stiles fell heavily onto the couch, dragging his laptop closer and pushing open the lid. It was silent for a moment, and then the annoying drag of the automated voice said,

_“Dereeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek.”_

It would never compare to Stiles’ voice whining his name like that, but Derek did his best not to wince before turning to his boyfriend.

“What?”

Stiles looked down at his modulator, typing quickly. _“I need my phooooooooooone.”_

“So go get it.”

The puppy dog eyes he got could’ve rivalled Scott and Derek snorted before heading for the stairs, ignoring the electronic voice thanking him with stretched out vowels.

Reaching the landing, Derek wandered to the bedside table, staring down at Stiles’ phone for a long while before slowly reaching into his pocket and pulling his own out. He listened to make sure Stiles was distracted downstairs, then scrolled through his phone for his recently called numbers, Stiles’ name reflected back at him at least once a day.

He hit the call button, brought the phone to his ear, and closed his eyes, listening to the phone ring. It vibrated on the nightstand, and Derek let it ring and ring until it rang through to voicemail.

The line clicked, and a familiar voice spoke down the line.

_“Hey, this is Stiles and you missed me. Leave a message.”_

Derek exhaled softly and hung up before the beep of the voicemail, not wanting it to go through. He opened his eyes and stared down at the phone on the nightstand. Reaching out after a long moment, he unlocked it and made sure to remove the missed calls notification, both from himself and the missed call from before breakfast.

Stiles’ missed calls list was almost entirely Derek.

He stared down at it, feeling the ache in his chest beginning to rear its ugly head. Closing his eyes again, he let out a slow breath, struggling to push through the pain.

Once he was sure he could smile again, he closed out of the missed calls on Stiles’ phone and headed back downstairs, ready to face another day of the quiet he hated with every fibre of his being.

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Additional Tags: Disabled Stiles, Mute Stiles.


End file.
